She settled, her hairy self, in sugar and wax,a bit tired after her flipping her tiled wings a million timeson the Samurai's nose,

Brown and wide, crafted Toad-like

Below two chinky windows,

Three straight hair making audacious effort to jut out as rusted bayonets

As if they were the splinter images of Dali's Waxed moustache in twirl From the cave like nostrils

"They are mammoths," She thought,To either climb up, or jeer at, or negotiate, or rideor touch or play with,

Fidgity she was that it would trigger a violent sneeze, Straight or delayed and curved, Indeed a ball in spin of sorts,

But , that it will be too muchIn force and wetness That is at least what her compound, starry eyes perceived,And her tiny brain calculated, confounded and confused,and jittery,The three curved scimitars of the hair standing sentinel To the twitching entries of the red brown sun baked nose,Playing with the human breathSweet and staleAt the same time;

She stayed put And took a chance to enjoy herself in her sweet delirium Nevertheless. She was drenched in the present,No past, nor future troubled herIn her deep meditation,And her flimsy but quiet awarenessShe thoughtThat is at least what her compound, starry eyes perceived,And her tiny brain calculatedShe was confoundedShe stayed putAnd took a chance to enjoy herself in her sweet delirium Nor did she make an attempt to fly

Honouring her calm,A fructose-moment "Ah, what a joy!"

She said to herself now unperturbed,That fly

Ravindra Tandon 4th Nov, 22